A Son Like You
by nothingtolose18
Summary: Oneshot. Patrick Thomas never made an effort to get to know his youngest son, David Michael. In fact, David can never remember being in the same room with the man until this moment. But is biology the most important factor in determining who your father really is?


David kicked the legs of his chair idly, and discreetly hauled his cell phone out of his pants pocket to check it. His mother had said that she didn't want to see him texting all night at the wedding, but it didn't matter, because he didn't have any texts, anyway. He slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Sighing, David glanced up at the clock on the wall, wondering when the dance would start. Then it would only be a few more hours of wearing this horrible tux, and he could escape. It was an awful thing to say about his brother's wedding, he knew. As a fifteen-year-old boy, however, weddings weren't exactly David's favourite activity in the world. He'd had to get up super early that morning to get ready, and after a full day of marriage related activities, he was sick of the whole ordeal. He decided that he was never getting married.

His sister Kristy plopped into the chair next to him and slipped off the heels that she had been forced to wear for the occasion. She rubbed her feet and kicked the offending shoes under her chair. "DM, if anyone asks, you don't know where my shoes are, okay?"

David grinned. His sister was the last person in the world who would ever want to wear a dress and heels. He knew that if left to her own devices, Kristy would have worn her typical outfit of jeans and a t-shirt to the wedding. As a bridesmaid, however, she had had no choice in the matter. "Noted. I'm surprised that you're still in the dress," he said with a laugh.

"Ugh, if I thought I could get away with changing, I would," she admitted, pulling the dress down tightly over her knees. "Unfortunately, I think Stace would kill me."

A sudden gust of chilly air swept into the hall as someone entered, causing both siblings to look up and see who was the late arrival. David wasn't positive who he was expecting to see, but it sure wasn't Patrick Thomas. The only reason that David even knew who he was was because his oldest brother Charlie, as it turned out, was a spitting image of the man. David could never remember even being in the same room with Patrick, although he supposed he had, in the short time before he had up and left his mother after David was born.

"Patrick!" Kristy shot a surprised look at their older brothers across the room, and she darted over to speak to Charlie and Sam, leaving a sullen looking David to stare at Patrick. What was he doing here, anywhere? Sam had invited him, sure, but David thought he'd done it as more of a common courtesy than of any real expectation that he would show up. He'd skipped all of their other milestones, and had had little to no contact with his children in the last fifteen years. Why would he change his mind now?

David slumped in his seat and stared at the table, refusing to meet the eyes of any of his family members. _Maybe if I keep looking down, he'll go away._

"Oh my gosh. Is that your dad?"

David looked up, startled, to see his stepsister Karen sitting across from him. Unlike David, Karen had no qualms about staring unabashedly at the scene in front of her. Knowing Karen, it was taking everything in her to not eavesdrop on the conversation from a closer vantage point.

"Did you sneak over here?" David demanded. "I didn't even hear you coming."

Karen ignored him. "Wow, Charlie looks _just _like Patrick. You should go talk to him!"

David stared at her, the words making no sense in his head. "Um, no thanks. He's never seemed to want to get to know me. I'm not making the effort. Screw that."

"Oh, come on, David Michael!" Karen still insisted on calling him by his entire name, even though he had decided years ago that he would rather just be called David. "It wouldn't hurt, would it? He is your _real _father, after all."

_Thanks for the reminder. _"If he wants to talk to me, then he can make the effort," David repeated stubbornly. He didn't have a clue what he would say to his biological father, anyway. What did you say to a man who you couldn't remember? A man who had obviously never wanted anything to do with you?

"Well, he's coming over right now," Karen said in a low voice, leaning in closer so that he could hear her. David, startled, glanced up to see that he was, indeed, heading toward him, followed by Kristy.

David Michael watched as they approached. The answers to unspoken questions bubbled to the forefront of his mind. Things that David had never realized he'd always wondered about suddenly fell into place. He watched the way Patrick seemed almost to saunter as he walked, lilted to the side, so much like Charlie. His brown hair was the same shade as his siblings and his own, although Patrick's was tinted grey near his temples. The upturned snub of a nose on Patrick's face was so unlike his mother's and older siblings' perfectly straight noses (David had often wondered where he'd gotten that nose). David drank in all these details and more, because really, when would he ever get the opportunity to do so again?

_The last time I was in the same room as this man, I wasn't even a year old._

"Patrick, this is David Michael. DM, this is Da – uh, Patrick." Kristy looked vastly uncomfortable. "And that's Karen, our stepsister," she added, shooting a pointed look at the younger girl across the table. "I believe she was just leaving."

Karen reluctantly stood and shot Kristy a _Look _before retreating to the next table over, where David knew she would still have a good spot to eavesdrop.

There were a billion questions that he could ask Patrick. He could ask him if he'd grown any balls since he'd left his wife and four small children under the age of ten and let them fend for themselves, or he could ask why he had never made any effort to connect with the children after he left. Hidden in some tiny recess of his brain was the question of whether Patrick had ever loved _him_: David Michael Thomas, half Patrick Thomas' DNA, the infant Patrick had never cared to get to know at all.

David could have said any number of those things, but he could not imagine how he could possibly give voice to the vortex of emotions that was currently swarming his brain. What he chose to instead say was, simply, "Hello."

"Hello, son," Patrick said. He extended a hand to David's.

David gripped his hand, surprised by how rough it was. He wished Patrick hadn't called him son. He wasn't his son, not really.

"Uh... how are you?" David asked, clearing his throat and shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He wondered when he could escape. He hated when people made small talk, and tried to string a conversation along. Mostly, he hated this man.

"Oh, I'm good, and yourself?" Patrick questioned, polite to the point of impersonal. Kristy made a face, obviously not wanting to be a part of this conversation herself, but not wanting to throw her little brother to the wolves.

"Good," David mumbled, daring a glance to his left. He could sense Karen just outside his peripheral vision, staring at them.

Patrick looked as though he wanted to say something, and David wondered if this was going to be it, the big reveal. Was it time for Patrick to clear his conscience, to make peace with himself for not speaking to his child in fifteen years? Would he apologize for not getting to know David? Maybe he would voice his reasons for leaving, and they would make complete sense to David. He could dream.

The moment passed. Patrick rumbled a "Glad to hear it," in response to David.

The awkwardness of this moment, the enormity of the situation, was closing over David, and he began to feel as though if he didn't leave the hall at this very moment he would suffocate under its weight.

"I have to leave," he managed to squeak, before racing to the nearest exit. He wanted to punch a wall. He wanted to break down and cry. He wanted to pretend that he had not just met his father and had him not acknowledge the terrible things he'd done.

"David Michael!" It was Karen, rushing after him. She grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around to face her. "Kristy is worried. I saw it all! He's really a –"

"Go away," he interrupted flatly, pulling away from her. "Seriously, Karen, I just can't deal with you right now. I'll be back in in a minute." He turned away, running his hand through his hair and swallowing hard. He heard her harrumph and stalk back into the building, obviously hurt. David would have felt bad, but it was true. Karen was a lot to handle on a good day, and today wasn't a good day.

He paced in front of his family's station wagon, clenching his hands into fists. He wondered if Watson would hate him too much if just wailed on the station wagon, beating it and kicking it until it fell apart. Quite pathetically, he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He rubbed them hastily away with his fists, furious with his own eyes for betraying him. He was not going to cry. He was not going to let his father – could he even be called such? – have the satisfaction of eliciting any emotion from him.

The slamming of a car door startled David, and he glanced up to see Watson standing before him. David had been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed his stepfather, rummaging around in the station wagon for something.

"Hello, David," Watson said agreeably, flashing his wallet toward him. "I just realized that I left my wallet in the – what's wrong?" Watson was instantly on alert, shoving his wallet into his front pocket and striding toward David. "Why do you look so upset?"

"It's nothing," David said, turning away quickly. He hated the way he sounded right now, like a petulant child. "Really," he added in a trembling voice, leaning against the station wagon and blinking quickly. "I'm okay."

A door opened in the reception hall, spilling light into the cool dusk. Patrick emerged, jovial, not knowing or caring about the tumultuous emotions his visit had wrought in his youngest son. "Goodbye, Sam!" he crowed, waving wildly in the direction of the hall. "Goodbye, and congratulations again!" The door crashed shut behind him. Patrick jumped into a little red sports car, seeming not to take any notice of the two other figures in the parking lot; too focused on himself, David figured. He didn't know the man very well, but this seemed to be a recurring theme in his life, this not caring about anyone else but number one. Patrick wants to leave his wife and children. Patrick wants a new family. Patrick wants to visit Sam on his wedding day and completely fails to even_ attempt_ to explainthe fact that David Michael means nothing to him. If it wasn't for Kristy, David doubted that Patrick would have even noticed him at all.

_Long visit, _David thought reproachfully, watching as Patrick sped out of the parking lot. He knew that Patrick had made an appearance just to say that he had, so no one could add Sam's wedding to the massive list of events Patrick had missed in his children's lives. _Yes, better take off as quickly as you can from anything that reminds you of your old life. _David clenched his fists again as his chest tightened painfully.

The squeal of Patrick's tires had receded into the night. A beat of silence, and then Watson's voice, sounding harder than David had ever heard it before: "That was Patrick, wasn't it." It was a statement, not a question.

David nodded, not trusting his voice. _It doesn't matter, _he told himself unconvincingly. _Who cares about him. He doesn't matter._

"Were you talking to him?" Watson's voice still had that odd quality about it, as harsh and unforgiving as steel.

David shrugged, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. "A little," he murmured, wondering why his own voice did not sound like his, either. It sounded ragged. Small, and wounded. "As much as he wanted to, anyway." _Our first conversation. I had my first conversation with my father when I was fifteen years old._

Watson caught David's eye, and gestured toward the station wagon. Watson sat in the front seat, while David sat in the passenger's side slightly more reluctantly. But what could he do? He didn't want to go back into the reception, with the probing eyes of Karen and Kristy and everyone else on him. So he sat.

"David, have I ever told you how I felt when I was dating your mother?" Watson began, leaning back in the seat. He crossed his hands over his chest comfortably, as though settling in for the long haul, and gave David an appraising look.

"Um, I don't know," David said with a shrug, keeping his eyes down. His mind actively drank in the memory of Patrick while simultaneously trying to forget him.

"I was very nervous." Watson tapped his key on the steering wheel absently. "I was afraid to meet her brood, and afraid for her to meet mine."

"Okay?" David said. He wasn't trying to sound bratty, but he couldn't help but frame the word as though it were a question. He had no idea what Watson was talking about, and what it had to do with Patrick.

"Do you know why I was nervous?"

"Um, nervous that we wouldn't like you, I guess? And nervous that Karen and Andrew wouldn't like Mom?"

"Well, that... and the fact that I was afraid that _I _wouldn't like you guys," Watson admitted, running a hand over the top of his balding head. He was sweating.

"Really?" David asked, glancing up quickly. He had never heard an adult ever say that they had thought that they wouldn't like the kids. In all the 'getting-along-with-stepparents' books his mother had read to him over the years, it had never focused on getting the parents to accept the children; it was always about the kids having to deal with their new parent.

"Really," Watson said with a short laugh. "I mean, your brothers and Kristy were _teenagers, _for crying out loud! What did I know about raising teenagers? Nothing! I was afraid that we just wouldn't be able to get along."

David stared at Watson, wondering where all this was coming from. He had never heard his stepfather voice these thoughts before. "And ... and did you?" he asked tentatively. "Like us, I mean?"

Watson was silent for a moment, seemingly trying to figure out how to voice his thoughts. He wrapped an arm around David. "Meeting your mother was one of the very best things that ever happened to me. Not just because I found a wonderful woman to fall in love with, although that is true, too. I also met four great kids, kids that I had absolutely _no trouble _loving as well."

David removed himself from Watson's grasp. "Yeah, I'm so great," he said tightly, gritting his teeth and staring ahead. "So great that my fath – Patrick doesn't even want anything to do with me. So great that he left Mom as soon as she had me. So great." He shook his head, swallowing hard. There were those tears again, betraying him.

"David, look at me." Watson sounded angrier than he could ever remember him being.

David kept his eyes straight ahead, breathing deeply, trying not to let Watson see him for the weakling he was. "Maybe we should go back inside," he said when he felt that he could keep his composure. "It's Sam's wedding –"

Watson reached over and locked the passenger door. "No. We're not going back in yet. _Look _at me."

This time, David listened. Watson's eyes were narrowed into slits, and he honestly looked as though he wanted to beat someone's lights out. David had never pegged Watson as a fighter, but right now, he had the fierce gaze of a pro wrestler.

"David Michael Thomas, I have known you since you were seven years old. You are funny, and kind, and generous. You were a sweet little boy, and you're growing up to become a wonderful young man. You are _just as much _a son to me as Andrew is, and _any _man would be lucky to have a son like you." Watson was beginning to sound choked up now, and he pulled David towards him, cradling him like he was a small child. In a sense, David felt like he was: he'd reverted back to a child, abandoned by his father through no fault of his own. "And if Patrick can't see that, then that's _his _problem, not yours. You are perfect exactly the way you are."

David tried to think of something brave that he could say to Watson, something to show him just what kind of man he was, but he finally settled on a weak, "Are you sure?"

Watson nodded. "I have never been more sure of anything in my life." He pulled away from David, but kept one hand on his shoulder. "Now, I'm sure your mother and sisters and brothers are wondering where we made off to. Are you ready to go back inside?"

David closed his eyes, feeling the weight of Watson's comforting hand on his shoulder. For one moment, he allowed himself to imagine that it was Patrick, the one who was supposed to be his real father. Then he shoved that image out of his mind and replaced it with Watson, the one who, although not related by blood, had been more of a father to David than Patrick ever had and ever would be. He opened his eyes and gave Watson a smile. "Ready."

They walked back to the hall together, not sharing any physical similarities like Patrick and David, but sharing something much more important than the DNA in their genes. David had had it wrong all along. He always thought that he'd been abandoned by his father, but now he realized that he'd been lucky enough to be found.


End file.
